


Novelty

by TiltIllusions



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiltIllusions/pseuds/TiltIllusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are The Psiioniic, and you are disillusioned.</p><p>You know your course in life as well as you know the inside of your hive. You know it as well as you know about your role in this violent world. You know it as well as you now know the exact grooves of the Signless's right palm. </p><p>You are disillusioned because you are clueless as to why you would take that fatal path with a vermillion-blood who allowed you to speak to him like an abusive master would to their pet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Novelty

"What can you tell me about fate?"

Spindly fingers traced your palm, their touch no more than the tickle of icy, stiff twigs in the middle of winter. He felt like the dead, but his general appearance betrayed that. The room was hushed, and you could hear no more than the shifting of his sleeve over the table as he probed the creases of your hand. You dipped your head lower, skeptically. He was guarded enough to squint at you, the dichromatic eyes making it difficult to see any emotion. Even with the soft glow of the candle sitting on the wood beside you, his features didn't look soft; but accented by sharp angles and a scrawny bone structure that appeared so fragile - and you wouldn't touch him not only because you feared that he would turn to dust beside you, but also because he looked like he might bite. 

His sigh was eaten up by the shack groaning in protest at a sudden gust of wind. 

"Fate doethn't control our actionth, but it doeth control the outcome," he lisped, his voice leveled and slightly irritated. You lifted your eyebrows tentatively at him.

"No matter what I do, you're telling me that my fate has already been decided for me, and it cannot be changed?" you reply. He draws his hand away from yours, and the cold tingles abruptly leave you, but you do not remove your hand in return. The Psionic reclines back in his chair, arms crossed as though he's talking to a child.

"Time ith thelf-healing. That meanth, if you knew what wath going to happen to you before it happened, you thtill wouldn't be able to prevent it. 

Thay, if you wanted to avoid your death by murdering the perthon who wath inevitably going to murder you, it would be impothible. Even with your knowledge, there would alwayth be thomething in the way. You could whip out a thword and try to thtab them in the back, but thome inexplicable event would occur before you could do it. Your weapon would be knocked out of your hand by a thpectator. Your blade would be broken by a falling coconut - anything. Becauthe you can't change what'th already happened, in the future. Otherwithe there'd be a butterfly effect, and time would have to be rewritten. It doethn't work like that. Time ithn't rewritten for anyone, and Time maketh damn thure that'th a rule. Even if you managed to create a paradox, time would be put back on track eventually through a therieth of 'healing' eventth. 

Now do you want your palm reading, or another life lethon?"

You smile faintly, and are greeted with his scowl in return. You've inclined most of your torso over the table, leaning on the splintering wood with your elbows to show that he had your undivided attention, though he didn't seem to want it. 

"No, I don't want to know what you read from my palm. If everything is decided like you say, then why would I want to know what I have in store, instead of taking the journey, step by step, for myself?" The peeling needles of wood pinch your forearms. His critical graze overwhelms you with dread for the future. The two of you could hear a pin drop in the silence, where his eyebrows slowly raise until his forehead is creased as prominently as mountain ranges. 

"Great, becauthe I don't know how to read palmth."

Rumbles of laughter echo through your chest and reverberate around the tiny room, as boisterous as though you weren't faced with doom itself. 

"Why fool me, my brother, when you were just going to confess?" you chuckle, slipping your hands off of the table and placing them in your lap. "Are these one of those life-changing things that you cannot control?" 

He purses his lips sternly and snaps back, "Don't athk me that, when you profeth that you don't want to know what'th in thtore for you," the troll's teeth baring and eyes scrunching in defense. You raise your hands in the universal sign of defeat. 

"You tell me that things are meant to be. I won't press you for information on what is inevitable, but instead, press you for your name. What should I call you by, friend?" The yellow-blooded troll's shoulders lose their tension, and slowly the rest of his body follows. He merely stares, simmering down from his sudden burst of irritation. For the first time, he looks much more like the child in the conversation than the adult. The dim candlelight dances over an expression of defeat, the sharp angles looking worn.

"You can call me Psiioniic, nothing more," he remarks, deflated, almost as though he's lost all of the fight left in him. Though you can't imagine what he was grappling with earlier.

"Do you know my name as well?"

"I do."

"Alright," you concede in a steady timbre, standing to leave. "Take care of yourself, Psiioniic."

You transfer a few coins from your pocket to the table before leaving with a grateful nod, giving payment for the knowledge he'd offered, in spite of his faulty palm-reading.

\--

You are The Psiioniic, and you are disillusioned.

You know your course in life as well as you know the inside of your hive. You know it as well as you know about your role in this violent world. You know it as well as you now know the exact grooves of the Signless's right palm. 

You are disillusioned because you are clueless as to why you would take that fatal path with a vermillion-blood who allowed you to speak to him like an abusive master would to their pet.


End file.
